Dad
by Faultystars1357
Summary: Now a two-shot. Robin is hurt and is in the medical bay. Batman is waiting for him to wake up. Father/son moment at the end. If not liked the second chapter can be taken away.
1. Chapter 1: Medical Bay

**One-Shot. **

**This is just something I thought of when I was reading some YJ Fan fiction's on my ipod a few minutes ago, well, a few minutes ago as I'm writing this. It's short and if I got anything wrong feel free to correct me. **

**Disclaimer- Nothing is mine. I mean seriously, do I look like I could own **_**the **_**Batman? No. It's a pity too. **

Looking down at him on the medical table was hard.

He was shot in the shoulder and a gash on his cheek was bleeding horribly. He had multiple bruises and scratches covering his arms and chest and his costume was ripped and crinkled. Over all, he looked like he had been to hell and back.

The mission had been bad. Real bad.

The team had tried, keyword tried, to stop some illegal black market transaction in Gotham. Well, the buyer of the whole fiasco was, of course, the Joker. Sportsmaster, the seller, had gotten away before the team could engage in full. And the Joker had decided it would be fun to play.

So he stayed and practically crushed them with his henchmen.

Robin had gotten the worst of it. He had stupidly taken on the Joker attempting to stop him from taking full possession of the new K-A Venom developed by Cadmus a few years back. It was been stolen from an unknown source and put on the market a few weeks ago. No one was really sure what it did, not even Cadmus did when they developed it. But, whatever it did, it certainly wasn't something to cure cancer.

Joker had managed to shoot Robin after Robin had engaged him in a full on fight. It slowed him down but the boy had had worse. Of course, since it slowed him down he was able to get attacked by the henchmen he could normally take down. The crowbars were bad enough but the knifes had been sharpened to the point of a minotaur's horn.

_Sharp._

The big gash on his cheek came from when the Joker had managed to grab him and slide the pocket knife across it. Robin then got out and was beaten to pulp by the henchmen. Overall, he was taken down pretty easily. Though, Batman couldn't blame him.

It was _that _day.

_Their _anniversary.

He had been distracted. Still, he was taught by Batman it shouldn't have been a huge problem. But it was the Joker and he had had no outside help from his team who had been trying to get Sportsmaster and stop the remain henchmen who _weren't _at Robin.

"Do you think he'll be fine?" Clark asked, staring down at his chest. It rose slowly and unevenly. Bruce looked at him with wary eyes, cowl off, and then at Robin, whose mask had yet to be removed. "Yes. He's had worse, sadly enough, and he should wake up any moment now," He replied calmly. But the worry was evident in his voice as he leaned over Robin's body. The blood stained the white sheets and blankets.

One minute.

Three minutes.

"Bruce…"

Four minutes.

Five minutes.

"He'll wake up. Give him time. He's probably in shock. He's only human," The last part was gruffly said, stating a point and ending the conversation. Not that it was much of a conversation anyway, more of an interaction of friends who were angry with each other.

"Maybe…"

"He's fine Clark. Trust me," Bruce shot back before the kryptonian could say anything. Clark rolled his eyes and watched Robin's chest again.

Up.

Down.

Frozen.

Up.

Down.

Frozen.

Repeat.

He listened to his heart as it pumped at an uneven pace. It was getting better though. He was bandaged up now and he head was tilted to the side. Bruce walked over and carefully moved the mask as to not hurt him with the bruises and scratches on his face.

His eyes were closed.

Finally, Bruce kneeled down to Richards eye level.

"Richard?" He asked. Both men waited. Waited.

One minute.

Two minutes.

"Dad?" He finally spoke. Both men let out sighs of relief. "No Dick, it's me, Bruce."

"Yeah, I know dad," He replied and fell back asleep leaving Bruce smiling slightly.

He had called him dad.

**I had fun writing this. Please leave a review, I'd love to know the feed back on this. Thanks.**

**-Fighter1357 **


	2. Chapter 2: At the Manor

**I'm making this a two-shot now. So, hope you like. I'm probably ruining this by adding this second chapter so if it is not liked or whatever I'll delete it. **

**Romanian will be in italics. Let's pretend that Bruce doesn't know any Romanian in this fic. Kay?**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2:<strong>

* * *

><p>Mr. Wayne.<p>

That was what he had been called for the first year when Richard had come in with him. Then it had been Bruce after convincing him it was alright. Then it was trying to tell him to speak english. Everytime Richard got excited or frightened or nervous he would slip into rapid Romanian.

_"Bruce, Bruce! Ai văzut că? Am facut un flip perfectă patru ori! Ca o părinţii mei m-au învăţat_! Bruce, Bruce! Did you see that? I did a perfect quadruple flip! Like the one my parents taught me!"

Never once had Bruce been called dad. He had come to terms with the fact that he could never replace his father. He would never replace the man who had once lived with the boy. He could never replace his mother either. He couldn't replace his parents.

Constantly the boy would talk about them. Telling him Romanian rhymes and songs. Of course, he would then get a deflated, lonely look on his face but then jump right back up and be his normal self.

For the first few months of living with Bruce he was so polite. So shy. So reluctant to welcome anyone in.

"Thanks Mr. Wayne." and "No thank you Mr. Wayne." Were always said. He was much more accustomed to Alfred and was often caught in the kitchen chatting happily. When 'Mr. Wayne' walked in he would shut his mouth and stare down at the granite counters. Alfred would send Bruce an apologetic smile but would return to cooking and asking questions. They would remain unanswered until Bruce left but Alfred hoped on getting the boy to open up.

One time Bruce had refrained from walking in, just so he could listen to the boy talk.

"My _Mama _would make a special soup. It was a special one just incase you were sick. She made it for me when we were in Wash... Washinon-"

"Washington, Master Richard?"

"Uh huh, and we were up north. That was what she said. I got the colds and she made me soup."

"Cold Master Richard, not colds."

"Yeah, and she made it for me. It was yummy. Could you make if I got sick?"

"Most positive Master Richard. If I had the ingredients."

"Cool. Oh, hey Mr. Wayne." Richard said suddenly. Bruce blinked, he hadn't made any movement, had he? He hadn't made any sound. For heavens sake he was Batman. He simply didn't just make a sound.

He slipped into the kitchen and saw Richard staring at the counter, very red in the face.

Alfred stared at Bruce; bewildered that Richard had known he was there.

"Hello, Richard," Bruce said, and leaned against the counter. He stared at the ebony straight faced, hoping to get some type of emotion from him. "Hi, Mr. Wayne," The boy whispered, "How are you?"

"Richard, you can call me Bruce."

The boy nodded, still staring down at the counter. He always acted like this around Bruce. Shy and quiet. He rarely ever said anything to Bruce. He was refined and generally stayed away from him. Never before had he been called dad.

That was why he was so worried when he called him 'dad' on the medical table. He thought that maybe he was thinking of his _real _father. So, when he said, "I know dad." He had been shocked, happy and glad at the same time. Even a bit worried about it. The cuts and bruises had already begun to heal. But right then he worried mostly of his mind. But he was worried about him nonetheless.

Richard was his son. He had already called Richard his son. He had earned that title. Bruce thought of him as his son, not matter what. After a year of living with the boy; Richard was his son. Even if he wasn't his dad, yet.

* * *

><p>"Richard?" He asked, shaking the thirteen year old. The boy winced and Bruce felt guilty, he never wanted to hurt his son. Ever. He was protective, maybe to overprotective. But this was his only son. Sue him.<p>

"Bruce?" The boy said, his eyes flickering open. Bruce felt a tiny stab of pain at the sound of his name from the boys mouth.

"I'm here. Are you alright?" Bruce asked, staring down at his son with worried brown eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Where…where am I?" he asked, sitting up. He cried out in pain and clutched his shoulder where he had been shot. Putting weight on it wouldn't be very wise. Bruce sighed and helped support him so he could sit up. Richard smiled a bit and looked around, seeming mildly confused. They were at Wayne Manor in Richards room, and Richard was in his bed. The black bed sheets were pulled over him.

He looked around, now sitting up with little support from his guardian... He rubbed his head and winced as he rubbed the bruise into his head. A few scratches were located around it and one even cut through it.

Bruce was sitting on a chair, which was graciously put there by Alfred, by Dick's bed. He had circles under his eyes from two days of not sleeping. Call him worried, but it had been worth watching his little bird sleep. He did, Richard, have a nightmare. And there had nothing that Alfred nor Bruce could do as he screamed for them.

For the parents Bruce could never replace.

Bruce sighed and leaned back reluctantly as Richard supported himself in the bed. He was looking around, confused. "Why are we here?" He asked and turned to stare at Bruce. His icy-azure-navy blue eyes stared at him, circulating and bringing you in so you could see anything and everything and nothing about this boy all at the same time.

"This is your room." Bruce replied, stating the obvious. The worry was in his face and his voice and Dick could easily detect it. He frowned and looked away, staring at the poster on his wall. The poster of the flying Grayson's. Bruce followed his gaze and sighed, swallowing and looking away, feeling maybe he was invading on something.

"I'm sorry." Richard blurted out, turning on the black haired man so suddenly it must have caused him pain in his shoulder.

"For what? You didn't do anything-"

"I took on the Joker by myself, aren't you a bit mad?" The boy demanded, cutting Bruce off, gazing at him angrily, which greatly confused 'Mr. Wayne.'

"Do you want me to be angry?"

Dick frowned and looked away, thinking about something. His forehead crinkled from the concentration. His blue eyes narrowed as he stared into the distance.

"No."

"Then there's nothing for me to be angry about-"

_"Bruce! Îmi pare rău! Am fost atât de prost! Eu nu ar fi trebuit luat pe Joker! Am fost aşa de sigur de mine! Nu ştiu ce mă gândeam! Imi pare rau! Într-adevăr! A fost doar ceva ce am fost atât de sigur că şi eu nu ştiu ce mă gândeam! Cinstit!__**[**_**1]**" Dick began speaking in rapid Romanian. Bruce had picked out only bits and pieces but he was still staring at the boy with an eyebrow raised, a blank expression on his face. He never learned Romanian and now he wished that he had. Dick was breathing heavily, like he had just gotten something really important off his chest.

"Richard-"

_"Vreau să spun! Sunt surprins ca nu am spus nimic încă! Tu nu par a fi supărat, dar eu nu pot spune! Dumneavoastră aşa de gol cea mai mare parte a timpului! Ca şi cum mi-a spus Alfred ai fost înainte de am venit! Eu nu primesc niciodată nimic de la tine! Cea mai mare parte a timpului este furie sau dezamăgire! Vreau doar să fie tatăl meu! Doar o dată!__**[**_**2]**" Richard stopped suddenly when Bruce turned his face toward him. He hadn't understood most of what he'd siad but he understood one word.

Dad.

Just once.

And my.

Alright, maybe more than one word. But he'd gotten the jist of it. The boy needed a dad.

He had called him dad.

"Richard," He paused when Richard turned on him. The look on the boys' face told him that he was in slight pain but was ignoring it for him. Normally, Bruce wouldn't allow it (and neither would Alfred) but this seemed… important.

"Richard, I'm your dad. Alright? I am." _'I'm here for you.'_ He thought but didn't hoped this was the right thing to say. He wasn't his father. But, he was the closest thing he's got. If it wasn't the right thing to say he'd be screwed.

Dick frowned and looked away and a pang of guilt washed through Bruce. So it _had _been the wrong thing to say.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks dad, really."

* * *

><p><strong>So, yeah. Uber cheesey and probably uber horrible. Review? <strong>

**Warning: These are not exact translations. Goolge transtlate is a but and doens't translate correctly most of the time. Sorry. **

**[1]: Bruce! Sorry! I was so stupid! I should not have taken the Joker! I was so sure of myself! Do not know what I thought! Sorry! Really! It was just something I was so sure that I do not know what I was thinking! Honest! **

**[2]: I mean! I'm surprised you have not said anything yet! You don't seem to be upset, but I cant' tell! You're so empty most of the time! Like Alfred said you were before I came! I never get anything from you! Most of the time it's anger or disappointment! I just want you to be my dad! Just once!**

**(PERFORMANCE IS COMING OUT TODAY! YES!) **

**So, please leave a review of your kind or not so kind thoughts. This was stupid and I might delete the second chapter if you want. On a brighter note though, I am thinking of doing one of those 'Dick-to-Robin-staying with Bruce-after-parents-deaths-fics.' You know, where it shows how he came to live with Bruce and all. Totally a father/son fic. **

* * *

><p><strong>Review please. <strong>


End file.
